Human Nature
by Aurora18
Summary: A man who desperately needs to be shown some love and care and a woman who has been so long without either that she has forgotten how to be.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer – Original characters belong to Stephenie Meyer, plot lines and characetrisations all belong to Aurora18, copyright November 2015.**

 **New Story everybody! This one has the potential to be long but we'll see, let me know how you like it.**

Summary: **A man who desperately needs to be shown some love and care and a woman who has been so long without either that she has forgotten how to be.**

 **Chapter 1**

 **BPOV**

"Can you imagine how monumentally fucked I would be if I actually needed an assistant? Are there no useful people left in this city?" I raise an eyebrow but struggle not to snarl at my Chief of Staff.

Jasper had persuaded me, I probably wasn't listening when he first suggested it and just nodded instead, to see some candidates for an assistant position. The little rat had gotten a look at my latest blood results showing that I was anaemic and taken it upon himself to try and help me out.

No chance.

"I thought that some of them might have potential."

"Well maybe you did but they were all **terrible,** abysmal really. There's no place for them here."

"Yes ma'am."

Jasper wasn't a friend, I didn't really have any of those but he was definitely a good acquaintance, and we'd worked together for the past five years which meant that he at least knew most of the ways to keep me from getting too annoyed with everyone. That, I appreciated.

"You're not a machine Isabella, you have to-"

"Jasper Whitlock I don't _have to_ anything, and no, I'm not a machine, but I am the captain at the helm of the most profitable and popular fashion magazine around the world. I couldn't do this without a single person in this brilliant organization but I do not need help to do my job."

"Yes ma'am."

Damn straight, I've worked tirelessly and endlessly to get to where I am at thirty two years old. Being Editor of _The Magazine_ isn't easy, but I'm bloody good at it and I love my job.

"Now let's forget any idea of me getting an assistant."

"Of course, I'll be in my office if you need me."

"Thank you Jasper."

I brush invisible lint from my pressed black, always black, pantsuit and review the December issue with my final comments before we send to print. It's different, that's for sure. I thought I'd vomit if I saw another model with berry lips on a winter cover so I took the White Christmas theme to a new level and added electric neon colours in the makeup and accessories to models otherwise dressed entirely in white.

If I had an idea about where the industry wanted to lead all of the magazines I purposely turned it around the other way. Being told what to do and having my independence over-shadowed was something I promised myself I'd never allow to happen again.

Fairly satisfied, but knowing I'd end up taking the copy home with me to review anyway; I placed several calls to the stylists to have a set built for two days time. I wanted to re-shoot some of the smaller campaigns in a bolder, less subtle way.

No matter how small a feature something had in my magazine, it always made an impact.

I pack my things and head out of the office three hours later, it's dark and cold outside and my chest pulls slightly at the thought that it will be no different when I enter my apartment, alone as always.

 **EPOV**

I see her again and I'm reminded that if I think I'm cold now, it's tropical compared to the icy expression on her face as she gives succinct one-word answers to the poor bastard on the other end of the line. I'm pretty sure I'd piss my pants if she ever looked at me, which let's face it – she never would, but at the same time, I can't look away.

She's bewitching, in a way that I don't think I've ever seen on anyone else before, beautiful for sure but also undeniably sad, and angry. I don't think I've ever been so intrigued by or isolated from a stranger in my life. Surely she has a man, or someone, at home to make her smile because I've sure as hell never seen her express anything like happiness as she walks to and from work everyday

Don't get me wrong, I don't obsess over her or anything like that, but when your days are endless and empty like mine then you start noticing small things more and more until eventually they become part of your routine.

Like the guy who kisses his pregnant wife on the lips as he leaves for work and then waits until he's almost around the corner before he slips his wedding ring from his finger and tucks it right into his left hand blazer pocket. Scumbag. Obviously I don't know for sure but I'd wager that he's cheating on that poor woman. I fantasize about fucking with _his_ routine sometimes and snapping a picture of him in the act and showing his wife but then, who does that help? It just goes to show how miserable street life is making me.

Every time I see the old man across the street stroll two blocks and back to get the paper for his wife, I'm struck with more of those pangs of longing. When exactly am I going to meet someone whose paper I can fetch, or who I can kiss on the lips before I leave for work, without, you know, the being a scumbag part.

As soon as I think of pangs my brain turns to hunger pangs and I'm back to my normal 90% of the time state. Hungry. Except as I lean back to rearrange my frigid and achy-as-fuck legs from the awkward crouch/sitting position I was in I notice the packs of sandwiches lying in the hood of my coat I hope someone will drop change in so I can go _get myself_ some food. This means I can put my heavy parka on and scoff as much carbohydrate goodness as humanly possible _and_ start to get warm.

Unfortunately I'm too busy stuffing my face to see the lips of a certain brown haired beauty lift as she turns the corner out of my sight, gone for another day.

 **So what did we think?**

 **All opinions, questions and constructive criticism welcome.**

 **Happy Thursday!**

 **-Aurora**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer – Original characters belong to Stephenie Meyer, plot lines and characterisations all belong to Aurora18, copyright November 2015.**

 **Wow! Thank you so much for the reviews and positive feedback, it's much appreciated and really spurs on the writing, I want to get a 1000 word ish chapter out every few days. Short and sweet ;)**

 **And now, we continue…**

 **Chapter 2**

 **BPOV**

I start to feel just how cold it is on this autumn, but nearly winter, morning as I walk the two minutes back to my apartment from the end of my running route. I'm covered in a light sheen of sweat despite the cold temperature and my relatively thin running gear, five miles in less than forty minutes is my daily goal. This gives me a sense of control and purpose in the morning and also helps me to not linger too long on the fact that laying alone in my big bed will only serve to remind me of the fact that I am exactly that, all alone.

The city is waking up, people are walking to work, I wager some people are even just coming home at this time and then there are the stragglers of exercise fanatics like myself rushing home to turn around and look somewhat presentable in time for work.

My route home, as it has every day this week, takes me past the homeless man again. I usually stop to buy people food on the way home, not everyday but most of the time, sure. There is so much waste in this city it disgusts me. These people look starved and cold and whilst I can't warm them all up and give them a hot meal, and even if they sell it in exchange for something else, caring for someone else feels…good. So good in fact that I have to check myself lest these little tendencies of mine become too obvious and I'm scrutinised for them.

Like the way _he_ used to tell me I was too much, that I was suffocating, that he had no space, that he-

Stop, _breathe._

It's not often I let those painful memories cloud over my thoughts but I must be less focussed this morning than usual. My eyes drift back to the homeless man and while he's arguably a lot better fed that twelve hours ago; I made sure to wait to see if he inhaled those sandwiches - which he did – he looks so cold. He's clearly asleep but I can see his teeth chattering and his jaw clenched, I'm only just warm enough because I've been running – I can't imagine how he must feel.

I spend a few minutes rifling through my attic when I get back and find the pile I was looking for. I haven't looked at these in so many years and I push the emotion that they trigger straight back down before I become overwhelmed.

Get a grip, Isabella.

Gritting my teeth and slipping my feet into my pumps I'm out the door only a few minutes later than usual. Getting ready in the morning never takes all that long, and I'm usually able to sit down to a bowl of cereal of grab a slice of toast before I get in to work

I pass him, drop the bag on his side facing away from the sidewalk and stride away without looking behind me. This is my indulgence for the day, what I have given this man will look after him and keep him warm. This way I can pretend I actually have someone in my life for whom I can do exactly that.

 **EPOV**

Usually I'm just cold when I wake up but today I'm completely thrown.

One: - it's pretty light, usually I'm awake before anyone is even going to work and now it looks like the whole city is alive.

Two: - having missed the morning commuters means I've missed my opportunity for both money and fodder for making up more stories about them. Crap.

Three: - there's a bag next to my head hidden out of view that definitely wasn't there when I went to sleep.

Also, even before I was homeless I was lucky to get more than half a dozen hours sleep per night but now it looks like I've slept for half a day. I'm certainly not missing the empty feeling of hunger in my stomach in the morning either, seems like being well fed agrees with me. If only the angry beauty would stick around then I'd have a great night sleep all the time.

I can't put off looking in the mystery bag any longer so I make sure no-one else is waiting to come up behind me to steal something, which happened three days ago, and take a cautious peek to see what's inside.

I don't think I've ever been so happy to see clothing before, especially since these look like thick ass sweaters and thermal leggings. I figure the leggings are men's because they'd be way too long on the average woman but I still feel a little effeminate even considering putting them on. Then the rational side of my brain kicks me in the balls for questioning a source of potential warmth.

The sweaters are almost new though, they barely look like they've been worn. Hell most of the stuff I used to buy never looked this good when I first bought it.

It isn't until later that I give some thought as to who the mystery donor might be, honestly I'm far too enamoured with the almost forgotten feeling of being warm that I decide; who the fuck cares?! I've got sweaters and I couldn't give a rat's ass if they were pink and fluffy, well – I kinda might, but I am freaking toasty on this October day and it's the best feeling in the world.

Of course the fact that I probably look like the Michelin man with three sweaters on and a parka doesn't bother me, I don't think I stand much chance with any of the women in this city anyway being homeless.

I've just moved three blocks over to outside a café, a pretty good spot for catching change from passers by, when I see her. She's dressed in black and wearing her favourite scowl as always but she's with another woman – something I haven't seen before.

I try not to listen, well that's a lie, I try not to _appear_ like I'm listening but figure that no-one's watching me anyway so it really doesn't matter.

"I said I was sorry Rose, what more do you want?"

"A little humanity Isabella, or maybe just a way of showing that you're not a fucking autobot who forgets their goddaughters birthday – but oh wait, you did."

"I sent a card ok, and the gift is at home I just forgot to put it in the mail."

"Well you could have made some time to stop thinking about yourself and drive over to ours to drop it off. Did you ever think about that? Sophie was so upset that you didn't get her anything."

"No, Sophie is a good, well mannered child. Considering she _is_ yours we'll consider that something of a miracle. You're the one that's upset because you're used to only having you and your family to deal with but news flash Rosalie, some of us go to work for a living, work more than a hundred hours a week and don't bleed their inheritance dry to avoid actual work."

"You're a fucking bitch, you know that?!" Part of me was hoping the exchange would go on for longer because it was fucking entertaining, the other part of me wanted to slap the blonde bitch for being so fucking insensitive. As it happened she left with a huff and barrelled several pedestrians out of her way as she manoeuvred her huge shopping bags around with her.

The dark beauty stood there with her fur lined coat protecting her against the harshly cold air and her right hand gripped in a fist at her side.

"Rough day?" At the sound of my voice her head whipped around, stared at me and what I was wearing for a second, grit her teeth with her brow furrowed and continued walking down the street, presumably back to her office and life that by the looks of things, really doesn't make her happy.

 **Happy Saturday night you beautiful people!**

 **Leave me some love, I will get back to all of these pretty soon but would love to hear what you think, there will be a lot more dialogue soon.**

 **-Aurora**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer – Original characters belong to Stephenie Meyer, plot lines and characterisations all belong to Aurora18, copyright November 2015.**

 **Some of you have asked if this will be HEA – there's probably a 110% chance of that happening.**

 **Chapter 3**

 **BPOV**

 _One week later_

Fashion month is over. Thank the lord.

I think the rest of the world thinks we all take one big holiday after the utter madness of fashion month but really, it's just back to work, business as usual. Life as an Editor is never really what you would call quiet, besides, I love being busy. I _thrive_ on it.

What I don't thrive on however is not being able to find my eye drops before I get off a long haul flight.

I wrap a long wool coat around my shoulders and make my way from the plane through security which is blissfully empty for this time of night. Unless it's particularly busy I typically refuse the offer of a buggy ride through the airport. I'm even grouchier than usual when I'm sitting for too long and after a long haul flight and then the inevitable cab journey – I feel like I need to stretch my legs some.

It's a beautifully clear October night and I take time in the ride on the way back to the city to look up at the sky and open the window a little to feel the icy breeze on my face which refreshes me. I've had the blanket from the plane on my lap the whole time and suddenly, being home in the city, I know just what to do with it.

I've thought about the homeless man every day since I've been away, not in an obsessive or creepy kind of way, but as I allow my thoughts to drift during one of the many inevitably boring meetings, I find myself thinking of him. What is he doing? Does he move around during the day, or have any kind of work? I don't even know how old he is, it's hard to say for someone who is understandably so unkempt.

I've seen his eyes though, those green eyes that crop up in my thoughts almost as often as the sound of his voice.

I couldn't contain my surprise when he spoke to me after Rosalie verbally assaulted me on the street. I don't know what shocked me more, the fact that he spoke to me or that I couldn't remember the last time someone had asked me anything about my welfare. After I stomped off with my sunglasses firmly set over my face, I had to stop a stray tear from falling.

Nothing says desperate and lonely like half-fantasizing over a stranger you've exchanged zero dialogue with.

Still, there's something about him, something that makes me want to give in and make all his problems go away.

If only I had someone to look out for me.

 **EPOV**

If I thought that my first week living homeless on the street was rough, then the second was brutal.

Those thick ass perfect warm sweaters that I'm pretty sure the moody angel gave me? Stolen.

Food I managed to forage from behind the dumpster at the grocery store? Infested.

Number of times someone beat up my scrawny ass before realising I had nothing good left that they could steal? Once, but that was enough.

So yeah, this week has been pretty terrible. Also, the brow-haired angry angel who I now know is called _Isabella_ , hasn't been around all week. I mean Christ, I'm pretty sure I could pick which one her apartment building is. Maybe she's sick, or maybe her probably husband has whisked her away to the Caribbean on some fucking yacht or some shit.

Yeah, he probably has a yacht, dickhead.

I laugh at my completely stupid assumption about her life and then realise that, ow, getting punched in the face and getting a black eye really puts a dampener on humour and that my probably fractured ribs don't take too kindly to laughter.

The first morning I figure she just didn't go running, because hey, we all need a day off sometimes, I suspect that isn't the case with this woman but I gave her the benefit of the doubt. Then I had to make do with staring and judging all the other people that passed me throughout the day, but it just wasn't as fun, she's so much more than a hot angry woman in black with killer heels.

Then I didn't see her walk home, like at _all_ and most days I do for sure. The days went on like this throughout the week and then I figured yeah, vacation or she's sick. I couldn't let myself consider the idea that she was purposely avoiding me. I said about two words to her and she looked like I'd tried to punch her in the stomach, at _that time_ of the month too.

I'm midway through a pretend dialogue between Isabella and her yacht-toting husband when a sleek black car pulls up on the sidewalk pretty much straight in front of me. I see two shapely legs step from the car and I would bet every one of my last mortal possessions, of which there are not many, that it's Isabella.

I'm curled up on my side with my sleeping bad tucked right under my nose and my hoody just covering my face so that I'm still awake. My head is positioned, stupidly, so that I can only see her bottom half, not that I mind – I am a living and breathing man but she's carrying something towards me and I want to be able to see what it is.

The streets are more or less deserted, as they tend to be at 2am midweek but there's enough light from the street lamps that as I lift the hoody off of my face and look up at her, I'm rewarded with an uninterrupted view of her face which is usually covered by big ass scary sunglasses.

She stops as she sees me seeing her and almost looks like she's going to turn straight back around. I look pointedly at the bundle in her hand.

"I thought that you might need this more than me." Her voice is level and sure but the way she speaks is slow like she's trying to stop herself from saying something. She places the blanket down by my feet and backs away with small measured steps; she's not afraid, just cautious.

"What, you're not going to tuck me in?" I don't know where this cheekiness comes from, obviously she's beautiful and hey if she wants to go there then I am _so_ on board but the look she gives me is a mix of pain and a sneer. Suddenly I'm a little bit afraid of the kind of pain those crazy shoes are capable of inflicting.

She's definitely about to walk away now but she cocks her head to the side and looks at my face carefully, I know she's seeing my very sexy bruises and cuts. I'm practically irresistible to women right now.

"What happened to you?" Her voice is softer now but still measured and slow, like she's talking to some kind of wild animal.

"Pfft. This? You should see the other guy, well, _guys_." A flash of hurt crosses her face, something I'm pretty sure I wasn't meant to see. She whirls around back to the car and I'm positive she's going to go home now to her probably warm penthouse apartment complete with douchebag yacht guy.

I'm curious when I don't hear the sound of an engine pulling away, instead she's rummaging through a bag in the trunk of a car, apparently finding what she needs she's over to me and suddenly I'm the one all confused and bent out of shape, more than before I mean.

This is the closest we've ever been physically and if she doesn't realise it then I certainly do. She bends down right in front of me and other than ever more-beautiful-than-ever face, I notice the heavy black circles under her eyes and consider for a second that even if she does have a cosy life waiting for her back at home, there's something that's not letting her rest.

I'm too wrapped up in my own thoughts to realise that she's dabbing some sort of antiseptic at my face and all of a sudden the whole thing stings like a motherfucker.

She's not put off by my cursing or moving away, she just carries on, only telling me to 'hold still' once.

I've been with girls before but in an odd way this feels like one of the most intimate moments I've ever shared with another human before. She doesn't know me and I certainly don't know her all that well but I feel like she's taking me all in as her eyes search my face and despite the sting, cleans my wounds and scrapes with a gentleness I wouldn't have expected.

Those beautiful brown eyes look me over once more and then gesture to the antiseptic pads and wipes that she's leaving me with. She looks me dead in the eye which honestly is equally intimidating and arousing and then leaves my side once more with little more than a parting whisper.

"Be safe, ok?"

I watch her back as she retreats back to the car and am left with little more than a singular thought.

What the hell just happened?

 **Happy Monday everybody!**

 **Keep warm and I'll see you on Wednesday ;)**

 **-Aurora**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer – Original characters belong to Stephenie Meyer, plot lines and characterisations all belong to Aurora18, copyright November 2015.**

 **Chapter 4**

 **BPOV**

It's been two weeks since that night, two weeks since I've begun dealing with the torture of knowing the feeling of being that close to the man on the street without having any real connection to him.

I take another sip of my red wine and despite knowing that I like the vintage and the grape variety, all I end up tasting is bitterness. I feel regret for what I did, because honestly who thinks it's ok to such touching a stranger like that? I also feel regret because I didn't prolong our interaction, because I didn't let my hands linger on his face, feel the rough stubbles underneath my fingertips and cup his neck as I kissed him.

After weeks of denial I've admitted to myself that I… _want_ this man, in so many ways. I try to appear unaffected as I pass him by everyday on the street, but even now I can't help getting caught looking his way. At first he seemed to get off on my slip up, and grinned salaciously every time he saw me looking. Now he just smiles, the corners of his lips lift up and it's the sweetest, purest expression. I wondered what made him change. I just like looking at him; I like him noticing me in the way that only he seems to.

I admit to myself that in the past two weeks I've probably clocked up a fair few miles in the way I've been walking home and to work instead of using a chauffeur. Even when I'm carrying marked up copies of _The Magazine,_ I haul that thing with me all across town so that I can justify casually passing this man on my way to work.

I know that he notices the things I leave for him, and I know that he knows that they're all from me. There's a quiet acceptance in his expression when I see him peeking into a parcel that I've left for him. Sometimes it's food, clothes, a book – anything that makes me think of him. There's a fair amount of men's cashmere reject stock that's made its way to a care package for him too, he could easily become the most stylish homeless man in the city.

The wind is howling outside and I pull the lambswool blanket around me even tighter. If I'm cold now, how does _he_ feel? Does he have a shelter that he goes to? I've never seen him sleeping anywhere else when I've walked past late at night. He's always there.

An hour later and my mind is still on the homeless man, I just feel like I have to know if he's ok. I'll walk two minutes around the corner, check that he's there and that he's got the scarf and snack that I left for him this morning, then I'll go.

Easy, simple.

I won't be long.

Before I can tell myself that going out on the street late at night to check on the man is a bad idea, a silly grin threatens to take over my face. It's been so long since I've felt like this and instead of quelling the feeling as I am so accustomed to doing, I let the feeling of hope flow through me and consider that there may be a reason why this man makes me feel the way he does.

I see a bundle at the spot I can usually find him and feel a pang of sadness at knowing that he'll be desperately curled up seeking warmth in any way he can. I slow down as I approach where I know he'll be. Usually I'd be able to see him by now as the top of his head always pokes out of the sleeping bag, his wild bronze hair too much to be contained, that or he really is just too tall.

When I'm stopped fairly close to him and see no movement at all from him, not even breathing apparently, I start to worry. I'm crouched down and am beyond relieved to see that he is breathing, but not at all deeply. I'm convinced he's still asleep, otherwise I don't think I'd be nearly so brave approaching him in this way.

His lips are pale and chapped and there are beads of sweat running down his forehead, yet there's no doubt that he's freezing. He looks beyond terrible, his beautiful hair is sticking to his forehead and there appears to be no colour whatsoever in his complexion. It takes me a moment to put all of these things together to work out that this man is sick, really sick and needs some kind of medical attention.

I can't take him to the hospital, and there's nowhere nearby that's open where I can ask for him to be given shelter. Regardless, he _cannot_ stay here.

Something occurs to me and before I'm too cowardly to reject it, I decide on it as my next course of action. Am I crazy for doing this? Probably. Does it feel like the right thing to do deep down?

Definitely.

 **EPOV**

I swear to anyone who is listening that I've got some kind of hallucinatory version of flu, I mean, I know I'm sick but it's that or I'm dreaming. One eye peeps open and I take in the warm, soft lighting that seems to surround this place, imaginary or otherwise, that I've found myself in.

There's a lot of brown and cream coloured stuff, lots of beige actually. Furnishings and drapes and throws and couches, this place is huge. It's hot in the room, actually it feels like a motherfucking sauna compared to where I've been spending my nights for the past month.

I'm roused from my interior designs evaluation when the last person I'd ever expect to see in a flu-induced hallucinatory dream appears in the doorway.

"Hello."

Happy Wednesday you beautiful people!

What do we think of this new development?

-Aurora


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer – Original characters belong to Stephenie Meyer, plot lines and characterisations all belong to Aurora18, copyright November 2015.**

 **Chapter 5**

 **BPOV**

"Did you kidnap me?"

I don't bother to turn my head towards him to answer his question; I simply put down my beautifully crisp glass of Sancerre and take a moment to pause.

"Ok, ok, so you obviously haven't _kidnapped_ me otherwise I'd probably be tied up in a basement somewhere but I went to sleep outside and now I'm _inside._ "

"Well observed." I pretend to be engrossed in the latest edit I've been sent but I am extremely curious to see how this young man will react to being in the situation we now find ourselves in.

"So what I mean is how or why did I end up here?"

"You're awfully chatty for someone who has been practically unconscious for two days."

"And you nev-, wait, what?!"

"You probably don't remember, you weren't really conscious throughout much of it, but you were really quite sick."

"So you didn't think to take me to a hospital and dump me there?" I turned around now and stared him dead in the eye, irritated by his questioning.

"Can't you just be grateful?"

"I-I am, I just, I don't know why you brought me here."

"Does it really matter? You're warm, aren't you?"

"Yes, but what I mean-"

"Are you hungry at all? Is your stomach still aching from lack of food such that you're weak from malnutrition?"

"No, I mean, I'm not hungry."

"Then isn't that enough?" I had to look away then, I couldn't handle him coming closer to the conclusion that I needed to care for him on more than just a clinical level, more than any normal care to be shared between two civilised human beings.

"I know who you are."

"Good, it would probably be awkward if you thought I was a complete stranger."

"You're the one who used to leave me all of those things. Don't think I didn't notice. The food, the sweaters, the gloves and sweatpants."

"Do you have a question to ask me, or are you just listing comfort items?"

"No, but yes. Of course I have questions, I can't even think of the first thing I want to ask you because there are so many. What am I doing here?"

"At the moment you're taking my attention away from the final edit of the January issue of _The Magazine._ "

"How can you be so calm? I'm a _stranger_ in your apartment."

"Yes, thank you. I did notice."

"So that's _all_ you have you say, that you _noticed."_

"You seem to be acting as if I am keeping you here, I'm not. You are free to leave at any time."

I close the screen of my laptop, take my glass out to the kitchen and feel the slight ache in my legs from my run this morning.

Working from home for the past couple of days has certainly had its draw backs, people feel more at liberty to send me less than perfect work over email because they know that I won't be there immediately to call them out about it. They think it goes unnoticed, it doesn't of course. Nothing does at _The Magazine_.

One of the unexpected advantages however has been cooking my own meals from scratch, a pleasure I had shoved to the back of my memory. It was a pointless thing to long for given how little time I usually spent at home. These days I've spent looking after this man, feeding him and nursing him back to health have reminded me of some of the things I have been missing out on, cooking being at the top of the list thus far.

I'm browning a half shoulder of lamb when I hear him clearing his throat in the doorway. I close my eyes in resignation, mentally preparing myself for the next line of questioning.

He looks like he wants to say something but has no idea how, the look of confusion is certainly endearing. I smile to myself out of his line of sight as I listen to the meat sizzle and release its beautiful aromas.

"I don't know what's happening, or what's happened, what this is, who you are, what you're doing or why you're doing it but you should know that you don't have to be afraid of me."

"I'm not."

"What I mean is that I won't hurt you or anything, I'm not violent."

"Don't make promises you can't keep young man."

The silence was heavy after that, I'd revealed more than I'd intended and he was probably left with more questions than he'd started with. Perfect.

As soon as I'd placed the lamb in the oven and started to work on filling up the dishwasher he began to speak again.

"So I don't know if you know, but I'm Edward. Edward Cullen."

"Ok."

"I saw you one time with another woman, tall, blond, a little bit v-"

"Vicious, vacant, vain?"

"I was going to see vapid."

"Well that works just as well as any other word."

"That's funny, you don't seem like the kind of person to make jokes."

"I'm not."

"Ok, so anyway, I saw you with her this one time and she called you Isabella. I'm gonna take a stab in the dark and say that that's your name."

"Yes."

"Ok, I'm glad I remembered that right, would have been crazy awkward to just come out with that and you'd be all like 'whoa dude, who _is_ that'."

"Indeed."

"So Bella, I figured that since we've spent a lot of time together under less than normal circumstances. I should properly introduce myself."

"If that's what you want then please, proceed."

"Hey gorgeous, it's nice to meet you. My name's Edward." He held his hand out for me to shake, stood at his full height and brought himself closer to me. I was stuck rooted to the spot, unable to move. This scenario being so unfamiliar to me, it had been so long since I'd made a male acquaintance that was not work related.

I stepped forward placing my hand in his and gave him the mandatory response. It was then that those years of pain, longing and loneliness seemed to hit me full force square in the chest. The feeling of his strong, slim hand wrapped around mine made me want to close my eyes, capture the feeling of intimacy and never let it go.

Six years, it had been six long years since I'd been that close to someone.

 **I think that this is the most dialogue we've had so far! Did you like it? I want to do a few chapters like this where we get to know them in their interactions together a little more.**

 **Tell me what you thought, I always want to know.**

 **Happy Sunday!**

 **-Aurora**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer – Original characters belong to Stephenie Meyer, plot lines and characterisations all belong to Aurora18, copyright January 2016.**

 **So I had a really bad day today and just needed to write, hope y'all like this.**

 **Chapter 6**

 **EPOV**

I rub my hands over my face for what seems like the hundredth time already this morning.

 _How is_ this _my life?_

Honestly waking up in Isabella's apartment yesterday had me more shocked than becoming homeless did. What the hell am I even doing here anyway?

Sure, I'm just sitting around in what is probably one of the fanciest apartments in the city let alone any place I've ever been in before. I'm drinking coffee that probably cost more per bag than what I'd usually make in a day, before I lost my job and became homeless that is.

But fuck, if it's a hundred times more expensive than the shit I usually drink that's because it's a hundred times better, at least.

So far everything I've tried here at Isabella HQ is better than anything I've ever had before.

Apparently pyjamas are not just pyjamas, or maybe these ones are something else but I know that one day I gotta thank this Calvin Klein guy for making the softest joggers ever, and they're _lined_ , with fucking _wool_ or something.

I've got sweaters that swamp me right now because apparently being sick and homeless is not a good combination for having anything that resembles a manly physique. I'd never really thought a whole lot about my body, just that I'm tall which means that everything is usually short on me.

That all changed this morning.

There I go to the bathroom to take a leak, I get one good look at myself in the mirror and cringe because a chick's gotta be pretty desperate if she gets excited over the look of my scrawny ass. But it doesn't stop there, oh no. I take a walk to the kitchen sans shirt because it's roasting like an oven in this place (God bless under floor heating) and I'm stopped in my tracks by Isabella doing some stretching right in the living room.

I mean, how dare she right? In her _own fucking living room_ of all places.

Now two things happen at once, well maybe three. First I see Isabella doing all her weird stretching, which I soon realise is actually ridiculously hot as she gets all bendy and twisty and I get a real good 360 view of her butt. Second, I register that if I walk out there right now she's going to see just _how much_ I appreciate what she's working with and also that I look more like a twelve year old boy than a twenty four year old man.

Third, it has been a really long time for me. I'm pretty sure my balls have actually gone and retreated back up inside me because there's been no action whatsoever, none.

She walks in the door just as I'm slicing some of the lamb that she cooked last night, lamb; I'm eating _lamb_ for breakfast. She's going to think I'm twisted as well as being useless and pathetic. The fact that I'm now in the situation I was trying to avoid earlier really doesn't help.

I used to think that sweaty chicks were kind of gross, but this sweaty chick… _damn_.

"Edward are you going to eat that lamb all by itself?" She's barely inside but she's already stripped off her top layer leaving her in some kind of sexy half top bra while she pulls her shoes off.

Did I mention that she's sweaty and out of breath?

"Yeah, I well, I didn't know what time you'd be back and I was hungry so, yeah." She looks like she can't decide between looking disdainfully, or maybe that's just normal, at me or the chunk of meat (not mine, sadly).

"Move, get cleaned up in the shower and I'll fix this."

"But don't you have to shower and go to work? You're all…sweaty." She turns away like I've just insulted her. I didn't want to come across as pervy by revealing just how appetising I find her all sweaty but now she just looks sad.

"Look I didn't mean..-"

"Just get in the shower."

After what might be the best shower experience anyone has ever had, this thing has _jets_ ok and more warm water than I know what to do with, I come out in another pair of the softy soft Calvin Klein's (yes, they're clean) and see that she's fashioned some sort of club lamb sandwich extravaganza. She even put mint sauce in there; I mean seriously who the _hell_ just has mint sauce lying around?

I hesitate a moment before my stomach violently reminds me that we've been starving hungry for weeks and to turn down food like this, no matter where it comes from, would be the epitome of _fucking stupid._

My angry angel emerges from her shower much quicker than I did mine but obviously I've already eaten the sandwich, I probably still have traces of it left all over my face and beard but I don't care, it'll be a great surprise for later.

She's walking towards me in a pink silky nightgown and I'm turned on. I mean, it's not meant to be sexy but it is because she's wearing it. It's the moment that she whips out a cutthroat razor that I almost piss myself right there.

The dream is over, she's brought me back to her lair to kill me.

In reality I _know_ that this isn't true but seeing anyone holding that kind of weapon walking towards you is some crazy shit.

"I don't like beards, it's unhygienic so you need to shave."

"Ok, but do I have to use _that?"_

"Well, I can do it, I mean, if you want." She's definitely planning on slitting my throat now.

"Wha-, really?"

"Yeah, I used to for-, well I've done it before, lots of times. You won't feel a thing."

"Ok."

Death by sexy, angry angel, there are definitely worse ways to go.

 **Kind fluffy, bit of a filler but also some good interaction.**

 **Let me know what you think dear readers!**

 **Happy Thursday!**

 **-Aurora**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer – Original characters belong to Stephenie Meyer, plot lines and characterisations all belong to Aurora18, copyright February 2018.**

 **Guess who's back? I want to update this regularly so let's get rolling with the feedback and see where these two end up.**

 **Chapter 7**

 **BPOV**

After demolishing another lamb flatbread sandwich, we make our way to the main bathroom so I can shave off the monstrosity on his face. I take a tentative look and despite eating three portions worth of meat he doesn't appear to have _misplaced_ any in his facial jungle which is a relief at least.

It brings me an enormous sense of satisfaction just thinking about doing this for him. He's homeless so he'd have no way to do this for himself, he _needs_ me. Part of me knows I shouldn't be so delighted to have another human being so dependent on me but the larger, much more dominant part revels in knowing how integral I will soon be in his life.

He takes a seat on the stool I've placed by the sink and I wordlessly move around the room, collecting shaving foam, toners and moisturizers, things I'd bought as gifts for _him_ but that he'd obviously never used. It's hard to take advantage of gifts you're bought if you're out fucking around with other women.

He looks nervous suddenly and I'm not sure if I like the slightly helpless look on his face or prefer the cockiness from before. Either way I like having him here already, much more than I should and delight in the obvious change in the room his presence causes. Sharing my excessive space with another is heart warming beyond belief, I can't move around as I usually do because he's in the way, it's a feeling I fear myself getting accustomed to far too quickly.

I move in front of him and gaze into his cautious eyes before speaking softly.

"Edward are you ok? Are you still hungry?"

"I think I could eat a whole flock of those sandwiches but if I do then I might be sick."

"Quite, yes then we'd better not. That sort of thing is awfully messy. I don't like mess."

"Is that why the beard has to go?"

"The beard has to go because I find facial hair unbecoming, Edward. You don't _mind,_ do you?" As if I'd give him a choice.

"No, no it's fine."

"Good boy." I stand behind him as I praise him softly and surprise even myself with the words that come out. I feel no sense of motherly care for this man, after all I'm not _that much_ older than him but a sense of protectiveness that feels natural but also foreign.

Well, it's not as if this sort of situation is in any way familiar.

I smile softly as I hear him let out a shaky breath as I rub my hands over his face, spreading the foam carefully to avoid any cuts and sensitive areas. Despite finding it completely unacceptable myself, I allow my hands to roam his neck and take a deep delight in the racing pulse I feel beneath my fingertips.

I take out the clean blade and work my way around him methodically, lost in a trance listening to the blade slipping through foam and hair and watching clumps fall to the towel beneath us and the apron I've wrapped around him. His face reveals itself to me as the minutes tick by and I am conscious that his breathing has evened out and he seems totally relaxed below me. The thought makes me pause for a second, this young man, while he must feel comforted to an extent by the care I have shown him, is extremely trusting. It gives me pause to wonder whether he would be this trusting of anyone or whether it has anything at all to do with me.

I find it unpleasant to think about him being so pliant in anyone else's hands and try to rid my mind of the thought before he notices my change in behavior. Unfortunately, I am not so lucky.

"You know you frown a lot when you're concentrating."

"Well that's because I'm doing precisely that Mr Cullen, concentrating. You don't want me to _slip_ do you?" My words come out entirely more harshly than I had meant but my abrasive attitude isn't a defense mechanism for nothing.

"I didn't mean it like that, you just look like you're thinking really hard about something, I wonder what's going on in that pretty head of yours." My jaw tightens at his platitude and I scoff as I rub a warm flannel over his face, catching the last strays and admire my handiwork. I may be a little out of practice, but I've done a fine job here. He is utterly transformed before me, a new man.

"Indeed. You're too thin, but you seem to like my cooking so far so I'm sure we can change that soon enough." His eyes are downcast at my words but perk up as soon as I start gently rubbing moisturizer into his skin and ointment into the remnants of old scratches.

"Bella I'd be crazy to not like your food, your husband's a lucky guy." The end of his sentence snaps me from my reverie and I don't bother to hide my sneer, or to answer his implied question. As if I would have another man in my home while Edward was here. Infidelity, to any degree and of any kind was up there with the very worst kind of behavior in my mind.

"There, you look much better. How do you feel?" I use a fresh towel to catch any water and dry him off, on my knees in front of him so I can get the full view of his face to admire my work. I can tell at one time, perhaps when he was healthier he would have been breathtakingly handsome, but in his diminished state he is rather boyish looking with his overgrown hair and too thin face. I have the unfortunate feeling that this man would haunt me no matter what he looked like.

"Like the luckiest guy in the world to have you find me."

 **I daresay I've fallen in love with these two again, tell me your thoughts below.**

 **-A**


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